Filch's Desire
by fluffysheep98
Summary: Argus Filch is in love with an unlikely subject. Will his true feelings be known? Will they feel the same way? Or will he forever remain the lonely caretaker of Hogwarts School?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a lonely, solitary job, being caretaker of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All day, every day, Argus Filch's purpose in life was to sweep the deserted corridors of the castle with no one but a cat for company.

He would be sweeping the corridors when those filthy little students would saunter past; often whispering or sneering- even though he would have his back turned, he would know their high pitched laughter would be at his expense.

What Filch despised the most about the despicable children who would roam around and dirty up his corridors was the fact that they would practise magic- right in front of his face. He knew they would only do it to spite him; surely they got enough in those magic classes of theirs, they don't need to practise it in the corridors too.

The mess he could just about deal with- but every time he would see a little brat casually flicking their hand, expelling coloured sparks from their wands, he would be taken back to when he was 11 years old- desperately aiming older brothers wand in the air and almost begging it to do something- anything to stop the undeniable shame and disappointment in his mother's face or the anger in his father's eyes as their nagging suspicions of what their son was, grew in their minds.

Growing up, witches and wizards would steer clear of Argus Filch- almost as if they were fearful that being a squib was contagious. Even his own family would try and contain his being a squib from the outside world, ashamed when they would have to explain to witches and wizards who would call at their house or see in Diagon Alley why his son wasn't in Hogwarts.

Children now are as cruel as they were back then- mocking and teasing and jeering until Filch became to hate all people, only allowing himself to feel affection for his only friend, Mrs Norris.

Well, there was one exception.

When most people looked at Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, they would see a wise, perhaps slightly eccentric old man. Filch would see much more than that. He would see the kind hearted, good spirited man who gave him a job, the only person who trusted him and seen him as more than a bitter old squib with a crazy obsession for his cat.

Filch would see the quirky, cooky wizard, wise beyond his many, many years, with a deep chuckle that send shivers down Filch's spine, and piercing eyes, deeper than the dark lake. He wouldn't see a grey old man; he would see the handsome wizard that Dumbledore once was, shining through his flowing beard and countless wrinkles.

Every time Dumbledore would smile and request that Filch clean up a mess in the Ravenclaw tower or would order Peeves out of the charms classroom after he himself had tried for at least an hour, Filch would feel a great warmth inside his heart and would be put in a great mood for the rest of the day, a great mood which could not even be deterred by Peeves or even the peskiest of students.

Filch would feel all of this every time he thought of Dumbledore, and yet he knew he could never let his feelings be shown. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of all time, the best headmaster Hogwarts had ever known, the kindest heart that ever was- and Filch was a man who cleaned a school, incapable of the simplest of spells, a disappointment to his family. Plus, Dumbledore has many female admirers. Although many looked up to Dumbledore and respected him as a person and for the work he had achieved, Filch would see the many women that would come to visit Dumbledore in his office- often flustered and looking at Dumbledore with a mixture of awe and longing.

When Filch would see a woman from the ministry of magic visiting Dumbledore to discuss things which, Filch thought, could easily be explaining in a short letter, his face would burn and his hands would tighten on whatever he was holding, hissing with fury and making small veins pop up on his head. Filch felt they were only interested in Dumbledore because they were amazed at his brain and starstruck at his fame, not because they knew and understood the person underneath all of that, like Filch did.

What would make Filch feel better, almost smug, was that Dumbledore would seemingly never notice, and neber return the attention of his romantic admirers. He would actually almost seem uncomfortable with the flirting, if he noticed it at all. Filch would gain some satisfaction in imaging the stupid women that threw themselves at him, realising it would never happen, and they were chasing after something amazing, something they could never catch. Filch smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Filch stood outside the grey gargoyle on the third floor and sweep the already dust-free floor. Filch had seen dumbldore roaming the castle with some idiotic blonde woman from the ministry- Filch couldnt remember her name- and he had a dreaded feeling that they would go into Dumbledore's office soon enough.

Filch hoped to quietly listen in on the conversation, and intervene if necessary. If that little tart tried to make a move on Dumbledore, Filch would bluster into the room and pretend Dumbledore's ofice needed a good cleaning, hopefully disrupting any hanky panky that could have commenced otherwise.

Just as Filch's eyebrows furrowed at the thought, Dumbledore turned the corner with that bimbo of a minister, Dumbledore recalling a story about Fawkes, his pheonix, whilst the minster hung onto his every word, her mouth in a perfect 'O' shape, laughing hysterically at every small joke Dumbledore made.

'Excuse me please, Argus,' Dumbledore smiled, gesturing the minister towards the door.

'Why thankyou!' she giggled, stepping directly onto the freshly-swept spot that Filch had been working on for most of the morning. She gave Filch a half-hearted smile. Filch grumbled.

'Pumpkin pasties!' Dumbledore uttered joyfully at the grey, ugly gargoyle, which sprung into life and revealed the staircase to Dumbledores office.

'After you,' Dumbledore offered, indicating towards the spiralling staircase.

'Oooh!' the Minister gasped, blushing, before doing a sort of half-curtsey and disappearing up the stairs. Dumbledore turned and smiled at Filch, making his stomach turn to soup and his knees feel weak, before following the clip-clop of the ministers heels up the staircase. The gargoyle sprung back into its place.

Filch stood dumb, with his hands wrapped around the handle of his broom, shoulders slumped, mouth gaping, not moving a muscle. He stood there for he doesn't know how long- just debating whether to carry on with what he was supossed to be doing, or to listen in. Two first years ran past, disrupting Filch's dream like state. He roared something uncomprehensible after them, shaking his fist, causing them to turn around and look slightly dazed before running off again. Filch looked at the grey gargoyle staring back at him.

'Pu- pumpkin pasties' filch grumbled. The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing the stone staircase. Filch stepped inside, holding his broom as means of an excuse if caught. Filch crept up the stairs, and stood outside the large oak door, eavsdropping on the conversation. Although his broom stick (the only one is the wizarding world that wasn't used for transport) moved side to side as if furiously sweeping, it did not touch the floor. Filch bent in closer to the door, as to hear the conversation emerging.

'Would you like a sherbet lemon?' Dumbledore offered. Filch could here the crinkling of the wrapper and Dumbledores 'mmm!' as he popped it into his mouth. Filch smiled- sherbet lemons were his favourite too.  
'Why, no thankyou Dumbledore!' the ministry official simpered.  
There was silence for a moment.  
'So, is that all taken care of then?' asked Dumbledore.

'Well, yes, it would seem so. Albus- may i call you Albus? Is there anything else i can do for you? Anything at all?' She said, her voice trailing off at the end.

'No thankyou, I feel its taken care of. Send my regards to miss Millicent, would you?' said Dumbledore.

'Yes, I'm sure the minister will be pleased to here from you. But Albus... are you sure there is nothing I can do?'  
'Quite sure. Thankyou very much, Mertha.'

'Well, Dumbledore, I think there's still a little paperwork to be taken care of. What do you say we talk things over a nice, hot butter beer at the three broomsticks? Just you and me... like a little date?' 'Mertha's voice was sickly sweet- Filch just restrained enough to not barge in and wrap his grubby hands around her neck.

'Oh... oh.' Dumbledore said with an obvious realisation coming across in his voice.

'well, Mertha, i am very flattered, however i will politely decline your offer.' he said quietly.

'Why will you decline this offer? How? Im the most attractive woman in the ministry, men throw themselves at me!' Mertha shouted suddenly, obviously starting to get angry.

'Well, to be quite frank, I am not one of those men. I am sure many other men find you attractive, I, however, do not.'

'b-but why?' she said, half through desperation, half through rage.  
'I'm sorry my dear. You're just not my... type. I prefer someone much different from you, but please do not take that personally.'

'are you saying you are...' Mertha whispered, 'not attracted to... women?'  
Dumbledore's silence confimed the queation. Every bone in Filches body screamed with joy, his heart feeling he would jump out of his chest. It took him so much strength not to shout and cry with happiness.

' Oh...' she said, quitely. 'Oh!' she said angrier. 'And why, do you suppose i wont tell anyone? Ministers, the daily prophet?'

'Tell them if you wish, Mertha, I am not ashamed. I would be, however, dissapointed in you, in that you would react so maliciously to a gentle let down and resort to threats. But as i said, Mertha, you can tell them if you wish. I will not stop you.' And with that. Mertha stormed out of Dumbledores office, not noticing the estatic looking caretaker who she nearly knocked out with the door. Filch followed Mertha the minister down the flight of stairs, took a secret short cut behind a painting a few yards down from the gargoyle, and ended up outside his own office. He scooped up Mrs Norris from his tattered chair, and holding her like a baby, twirled and danced around his few pieces of furniture, such a joyful display for such a pessemistic room. 'He likes men! Im in with a chance, my deary, Im in with a chance! No more tarts knocking on Dumbledores door, oh no, Dumbledore is Filches now! Dumbledore is mine!'


	3. Chapter 3

Being in such a good mood for the rest of the day, Filch finished all of his work early, earning himself some free time. Usually, Filch would take this opportunity to stand on the corridors and shout at students walking past, or to have an argument with Peeves, however on this occasion he decided to do something he had never done in his whole career at Hogwarts, and take the day off.

McGonagall seemed suspicious, but could not deny Filch the right to go out- after all, he had completed all of the tasks she had asked for and there was no more work to be done, and besides, it was his first time asking. Granted permission, Filch decided to visit Hogsmeade, took the train and took a carriage the road. He was there within the hour.

Feeling uneasy about being away from Hogwarts and Mrs Norris for such a long time, Filch decided to visit the Three Broomsticks, however after seeing the crowd of people, opted instead for the Hog's Head. Although darker and dingier, it was much quieter, with only one customer sitting in the shadowed corner of the room, a hooded cloak covering their face, and no apparent barkeeper.

As soon as Filch sat down at the bar, a sudden realisation hit his stomach about the owner- just as Aberforth Dumbledore came through a door at the side of the room and made his way over to behind the bar.

'Argus Filch! What would you like to drink?' asked the brother of the man Filch so dearly loved. Filch realised that this man would probably have no idea of Filch's feelings for his brother- after so many years at Hogwarts, he had never seen this man visit his brother, so they mustn't be close. The sickly feeling in stomach passed. This was a celebration, Filch remembered, and so said 'Long time no see, Aberforth! A firewhisky for me, and one for your good self- my treat.'

Two hours and three and a half firewhiskies later, Argus and Aberforth, the two new best buds, were sitting on the bar together, arms around eachothers shoulders. The creepy wizard in the corner had left hours ago, and there had been no more customers since.

'So.' said Argus, in a deeper voice than when sober. 'Visit- HIC! Visit your brother ladely?'

Aberforth grumbled. 'That man? Ablus? Albus? No. We. We don't get onnn.' He slurred, dragging out the last syllable.

'Ah. I see. He gets a lot of *womennnn* visiting him, ha ha ha ha. Now, Abby. I'm gonna -HIC- gonna lay it straight.  
Down on the table. Right now. Is your brother -HIC!- is Albus gay?'

Aberforth was silent. Argus thought he had fell asleep next to him and was about to prod his face when he replyed.  
'He never... said. But i alwaysss thought it.' Argus was silent, inviting Aberforth to carry on. Aberforth swigged the last of his fire whisky, sat the mug down, and spoke again.

'Gellert Grindelwald. He was a young man. Grindelwald was never like Albus- he was greedy and power thirsty. But Albus was blinding by something, and remained friends with him until something terrible happened- someone was killed. I always wondered whether the thing he was blinded by- was- was love.'

Argus sat contemplating this, then stood up. 'When did -HIC!- did this happen? Might he still -HIC!- have feelings for this "Grindelwald" or could there be hope for -HIC!- somebody else?'

Aberforth didn't seem to notice Argus's obvious intentions in the question.  
'75 years, Argy, 75 years. Truth be told, I don't know. Grindelwald, he killed my sister. I've never forgiven him, nor Albus for that matter. Haven't spoken to Albus in years. My poor Ariana!' howled Aberforth, finally acting as drunk as he actually was. He took Filches glass and his own, filling them both half way up with another dosage of fire whisky.

' To Ariana!' Aberforth cried, clinking glasses. They both drank deeply, slamming their mugs on the bar top. That was the last off the evening Filch could remember.

Filch opened his eyes and stared at the grey ceiling above him. He sat up in his cramped single bed, and looked around his small, bare room before scrambling down under the covers. He lay awake, remembered the dream he had just arose from.

Dumbledore and Filch had been in the great hall, at night. Filch remembered the twinkling floating candles above them. Dumbledore had told Filch that he had done a great job and he was pleased to have him as a caretaker, and that Hogwarts was lucky to have him. Filch didn't blush like he would have done in real life, but instead spoke out.

'I'm lucky to have you as a boss, Dumbledore. You mean a lot to me.'

Filch saw Dumbledore smile his radiant smile.

'Thankyou Argus. You mean a lot to me too.'

Dumbledore had moved closer to Filch, and even in reality, Filch had felt butterflies in his stomach.

'Headmaster. I have something to say. I... I love you.'

And Dumbledore had not replied in the conventional way, with words. Instead he had leaned in closer to Filch. A split second later, Filch had woken up.

Filch tried to imagine what would've happened just at the time that he had woken up, if his dream had been reality. Filch smiled, turned over in his bed, and went back to sleep.


End file.
